Reunited- Caryl Oneshot
by TheHarlequinnCat
Summary: A fluffier and way-to-sweet rewrite of what could've been the shipper-feed of the Caryl reuniting scene in Sunday's premiere. (Was it Sunday?) Anywho, this is a drabble; I did not edit it or look back, so it's not exactly up to par with what I'd consider GREAT. But, regardless, please review and read if you wanted some fluff to rip your heartstrings apart.


DISCLAIMER: I AM IN NO WAY AFFILIATED WITH TWD OR ITS CHARACTERS

_((Okay so this is just a little drabble after last night's season premiere of TWD, so don't read if you haven't seen it! It doesn't spoil much anything, just kind've implies stuff and shippery that is totally canon but the show doesn't have because it's the apocalypse. So if you really just felt like you needed something to make you cry of feels then this is like the ultimate fluff-angst shit I've ever spewed out. NOTE: It is an absolute trainwreck of a freakin short-story, I really am not proud of it and didn't reread it... I just wrote. But if you are craving that fluff, then just read it. REVIEW.))_

Daryl shuddered violently; he could see the gutted bodies again and again flashing in his mind. He rubbed them vigorously together, trying to generate some amount of heat without a hand to hold. The true extent of what just happened hadn't sunk in yet, he still didn't even feel like everyone leaving had happened. He still found himself turning to talk to the empty imprint of where Carol would've been, or Merle would've been, or Beth would've been. He was still haunted by Merle's undead frame heaving, staggering, dragging itself towards him; with the malicious intent of ripping his face off. He actually believed, to some measure, that if he convinced himself he could, he'd become too cold to cry. Daryl cursed the Governor, he cursed Terminus, and above all he cursed himself for being dumb enough to think everyone could've made it this far. He wasn't even sure if he was really himself with the losses around him, he was trying to switch back on autopilot. Merle would've laughed at his little brother trying to be tough, to be as unyielding as a hurricane. Daryl was an entirely different breed of human, he was this oversized puppy that just wanted to see his friends survive; he wasn't a loner by nature, but by choice. He'd always flourished in groups, and gotten too attached to people who didn't know he cared.

The group was still shocked they had escaped Terminus alive. The entire thing had been so surreal; they were saved by more than a miracle. They couldn't be so lucky to have been spared their lived but robbed of their happiness forever. He looked to the skies and he cursed God, because maybe living was worse than having died long before this shitstorm erupted. He knew he wasn't the only person who grew up this way- so emotionally damaged that it seemed like broken bones didn't hurt as much as the names he was called, or the bite of the whip hot on his skin. She saw that he grew up to think nobody could ever fall in love with him; that nobody could make him feel as though the sun and the moon and the stars were something to be contemplated, and that the faces passing by him weren't but gray blurs that he could forget. Reflecting on this, Daryl had mentally concluded he would be lonely forever in this new world. He felt surrounded, closed in, and suffocated even though he had so many friends still with him. He should count himself lucky, which turned back into this saga of self-loathing and hatred. It must've only been a matter of weeks, but it felt like years since she'd been gone; so he tried to empty himself to feel nothing at all, since nothing hurt more than this foreboding grief. Pulling his jacket a little closer, he hunched in on himself; eyes fogged over and dark hair sticking to his forehead. Rusty with blood, and crusting with the sun. So his broken heartstrings bled the blues, billowing up in black smoke that poured out his ears, nose, and eyes. Setting himself on fire from the inside, he could not see anything but gray blurs. Gray blurs, like passing people, and missing faces, and murky bloody souls.

Suddenly there came a light, he turned because he heard them gasp; and it didn't sound like the action-ready fighting of his crew. There she stood, her face coated with a facial mask of guts and reeking of a long day's work. There she stood. His girl with his bow secure on her back. Her bright blue eyes shining and her expression proud. That was all he needed to see to know that she had done this; this wonder woman who went from scared victim to the light of his life. He had no words at this point, and his feet moved from under him before his mind could register; all he knew was that she was there, and her figure blurring as the wet hot tears came down his cheeks in cascading rivulets. Unbeknownst to his own strength, his hug turned into more of a tackle; he knocked her clean off her feet, becoming a tangle of wrapped limbs and grabbing arms. God, he didn't care that she smelled like she'd been one of the dead for too long, or that his bow fell from her shoulders or even that she was laughing at him. Carol pulled him closer, as though if their ribs got close enough their hearts could merge and they could become one soul floating along in this wild world. Her fingers dug against the wings, the wings of her dear angel that came to bring her home. She was grounded, and she was herself again; she was with him, and he was with her. She felt tears brim in her own eyes, pushing him playfully from where they sat on the ground.

"_I love you_." They both quipped at the same time, before laughing again; their legs entwined as they sat across from each other.

"So much." Daryl echoed.


End file.
